He leant his head back towards her in pain, but he was not ready to stop teasing her. ‘So they are all allowed to speak the truth, and only I am supposed to lie?’ He laughed. She gritted her teeth and said, ‘So you say I am a chatterbox?’ and gave a tight slap on his cheek. He said, ‘Look! If you carry on like this, I won’t keep quiet. I know how to respond.’ Before she could say anything further, he quickly reached and grabbed her breast with his left hand. Her hands quickly let go of his hair and covered her bosom. In that little gap of freedom, he rushed and stood between the bulls.
His calloused, spade-like hands were always behaving this way. She used to say that she would have to cuff his hands when they went out. All those thirteen saplings they planted that day thrived and bore brinjals. It was only when the plants started growing that she realized it was a variety called ‘cat’s head brinjal’. It spread wide like rough hair on a dry head and took up a lot of space. Each brinjal was so big that it would easily feed a family of four. Ponna cooked whatever kinds of kuzhambu she could make with the brinjals. She proudly took some brinjals to her parents. But they were still left with a lot of them. So she went to the Tuesday markets just to sell the surplus brinjals. After the first year of the brinjal harvest, Kali carefully pruned the plants from the top and irrigated them again. They grew even more lush the next year. He sprinkled powdered cow dung under them and raked near the roots with a weeding stick. What a lot of effort he had put in!
Now the plants were in their third year. Without anyone to tend to them with care, they stood drooping. She sat down near the plants and said to her mother, ‘You go tie up the cow in the field, Ma.’ Running her eyes over Ponna and the well nearby, her mother rushed along with the cow. Ponna caressed the bristly stem of the brinjal plant. It felt like she was caressing his arms. She held the stem against her cheek. Definitely his hand. Suddenly, she removed the sari from her bosom and rubbed the stem over her breasts. His wide hands fondled her breasts. She thrust her chest forward in pleasure. She felt like she wanted more of this. She kept walking through the plants. How many hands did he have! Her mother came running. ‘Girl! Have you gone mad!’ She dragged Ponna away from the brinjal grove. Ponna burst into a sob, and beat her breasts as she cried, each punch falling hard and loud on herself. Her breasts were bruised. Her mother grabbed Ponna’s hands and held them back. Weeping, she said, ‘No, my dear, no, don’t.’
As Ponna grew tired and slid to the ground, her mother held her in an embrace. Sitting down slowly, she placed Ponna’s head on her lap. But Ponna could not stop sobbing. ‘Your father named you Ponna, the golden one, because he wanted to take care of you like a precious ornament, but now you are bruised all over. Is this what we gave birth to you and raised you for!’ And she wept, smacking herself on the head. Hearing this tumult, Ponna’s mother-in-law came running there. Both the older women had been watchful about the fact that there was a well nearby. So Seerayi had panicked, wondering if something untoward had occurred. Now seeing them sitting close to the brinjal plants, she asked, ‘What happened, sister?’ Ponna’s mother replied, ‘See what your daughter-in-law has done to herself. She walks in the middle of the brinjal plants and beats herself on the chest.’ And she moved aside Ponna’s sari and revealed her chest. There were drops of blood where the bristly stem and stalks of the brinjal plant had bruised her. There were a lot of scratches, and both breasts were swollen and bruised.
‘Oh, you heartless man!’ sobbed Seerayi, thinking of Kali. ‘You went away in a second. How am I supposed to take care of her? Did you think about that? Did you think about what she was to you? I told you both not to behave like young newly-weds, that the world would cast its evil eye on you, didn’t I?’ Her sobs became uncontrollable.
She then walked over to the well, and from the water channel next to it, she plucked and brought some leaves of the coatbutton daisy. They hadn’t had enough water, so they were faded and drooping. She took a handful, crushed them with both her hands, and let the juices flow over Ponna’s chest. The redness vanished under the green of the plant juice. Ponna’s mother rubbed and spread it all over her chest. It stung a little. Taking the rest of the coatbutton leaves with them, they both held and lifted Ponna up. But she stood up quickly of her own volition. She wiped away her tears with the end of her sari and draped it properly over her chest. By then, four or five people from nearby fields had arrived on the scene, hearing all the raised voices and commotion. Seerayi sent Ponna with her mother and stood back to explain the situation to the others in elaborate detail: ‘He has gone, but I cannot bear to see her suffering. She is not eating even a morsel. She has no strength left in her. Since she lay cooped up in the hut all the time, her mother brought her here on the pretext of taking the cow out to graze. And in the little time it took for her mother to tether the cow in the field and get back here, she fainted and fell next to the brinjal patch. You know how thorny the brinjal stalks are. Her chest is completely bruised.’
Ponna, who walked upright and unsupported next to her mother, said, ‘Amma, go to our village and ask my brother to come first thing in the morning. We need to irrigate the brinjals.’
Her mother said, ‘The water channels need to be dug out properly again, and the brinjal patch has grass and weed grown all over. How can we water that now? The man himself is gone, why worry about the brinjal he planted?’
Ponna spoke decisively, ‘Look here. If you won’t go, I will. Or else, I will bring the bulls myself and draw water from the well. Do you think I don’t know how to lift water from the well and irrigate the channels? Your son-in-law has taught me everything. He taught me everything because he knew he would die before me.’
Ponna’s hardened face and unflinching determination unsettled her mother.
FIVE
After insisting that her mother ought to go to their village and fetch Muthu, Ponna went to the field carrying a rake and a spade. She paid no attention to Seerayi’s protestations.
‘What strength do you think you have now? You ate nothing for two months. Listen to me. I will go and do the weeding. Please stay in for just a few more days,’ Seerayi tried telling her several times with great concern.
But Ponna did not respond at all. The day before, Seerayi had fetched a bundle of grass for the milk cow. It had rained for two days, and lush grass had sprouted over the fields. The owners of those fields had said that people could feel free to go and take as much grass as they wanted. Looking at the groundnut fields made Seerayi wistful. She felt that if that idiot had not abandoned them and gone, their field too would have been lush with groundnut and maize crops.
Kali always grew some vegetables, chillies and other things in two small pieces of land, which made them some extra cash. After all, there was nothing like having a man to work the field, was there? After her husband died, leaving her with a little child, what farming could Seerayi have done? It was only after Kali grew up that the field looked like a field. Now Ponna too would have to struggle alone. How was Ponna going to spend her life all alone? Seerayi spent more time thinking about Ponna than about Kali. The dead ones have no problems to face any longer; it’s only the ones still left alive who do. For the one who dies, it is just the struggle of those last moments. But for the ones they leave behind, enduring each day becomes a big struggle. Yet she had to think of his struggle too. If all that one had to worry about was food, one could live like animals and somehow manage. But humans have so much more to worry about.
She cut the grass, deep in thought about these things. Once she had gathered enough grass to make a bundle she could carry, she noticed that some kalkumitti greens had grown here and there in the field too. It was easy enough to find regular kumitti greens, but kalkumitti was rare. One could spot it only when it flowered, but even then it would hide itself among other plants. One had to look carefully for it. That’s what Seerayi did. She looked carefully and found and plucked some kalkumitti greens. There was a certain pleasure in looking for and finding something so rare. Tha
t night, Pavunayi Paatti from Vangadu visited them. She was like a mother-in-law to Seerayi in marital kin terms. Whenever Seerayi ran into her, Pavunayi Paatti was always in the habit of asking after everyone affectionately.
‘Why did this stupid fellow act this way?’ said Paatti. ‘Even people who are starving manage to keep themselves alive somehow. Aren’t there people who can only eat their daily meal if they work in the fields every day? So what if they were childless? Even in those days, my uncle was childless.’ She went on to talk of the old days. ‘He had three acres of fields. They worked hard and lived off that land for as long as they could. Later, they wrote off the land to the village temple. The land that belongs to the temple in my village today once belonged to my uncle. My mother had been hoping that the land would be bequeathed to her instead. But since my uncle had not been happy with my father’s meddlesome behaviour, he gave the land to the temple. Nothing was ruined.’
The old woman seemed to know a lot of things. She kept on with her stories as she and Seerayi plucked the kalkumitti leaves from their stalks. These were tiny leaves that one had to pluck carefully. After plucking them, Seerayi wrapped them in a piece of wet cloth and kept them on top of the water tub. Then they dozed off, Paatti entertaining her with more stories. Paatti woke up and prepared to leave before dawn. She said, ‘Everyone else goes to work in the fields. I am the only one who stays at home. I may not be of much help, but there must be someone at home, right? I take care of the house. I have never spent the night at anyone else’s place. But ever since I heard that my husband’s grand-aunt’s grandson had killed himself, I felt that it was all right to pay a visit and stay the night. That’s why I came at a late hour. But if I leave now I will reach home before the heat becomes severe. He is gone now—but those of you who are alive, please don’t dwell on it forever. Live well . . . Ponna, dear girl, god gives us our life, and he takes it back when he wants to. We don’t have the right to end it forcibly.’ With that, Paatti drank a little water, and left.
Seerayi had asked Paatti to stay and eat some gruel and greens before leaving, but the old woman refused. So it was only after Paatti had left that Seerayi started mashing the kalkumitti greens. It had the fragrance of ghee. According to custom, she shouldn’t use any seasoning until the period of mourning was over. Even a little seasoning would waft across the fields. Just when Seerayi was thinking of how the aroma of these leaves was making her forget her worries, she heard Ponna’s voice from the field. It had become quite a task to bring Ponna back home and make her eat a little. Like a madwoman, Ponna kept saying to her mother, ‘Why haven’t you gone to the village yet? Go fetch my brother, go, go!’ Seerayi tried comforting her. ‘What has happened to you, Ponna? Let your mother eat a little gruel before she leaves. You only need help with irrigating the field once the sun is up. He will come. If not, I will draw water myself. Now eat.’ She made Ponna eat a little gruel. Ponna was in no state to enjoy the kalkumitti greens. She just sat there, staring at the portia tree, and distractedly swallowed some morsels.
After that, she wiped her hands on the end of her sari, and set off again. Seerayi had not expected this sort of behaviour from her. Perhaps the field reignited the memories of Kali. All right, let her do as much work as she could. Seerayi went about her own tasks, keeping Ponna within eyeshot. Ponna first went to the brinjal patch. Once there, she did just as Kali would; she snapped the long stalks that had grown on top and threw them to a side. She plucked away dried and withered leaves and removed the brinjals that had shrivelled and become worm-ridden, and piled them all. Leaving intact the main stem below and the robust branches on top, she broke and cleared away everything else. Now the brinjal plants looked like Nallayyan Uncle’s cropped head.
That unbidden image brought a faint smile to her lips. She was not sure if Uncle had visited after Kali’s death. So many people kept coming and going. They stopped by to speak to her too. But she just stared blankly at them. None of their faces registered in her mind. She did not really hear any of their words. Perhaps Uncle too had visited. Kali had been close to him. But so what? Kali did not learn anything from him. What would Uncle have to say about what had transpired? Ponna pulled at the weeds that had spread on the water channel. The soil had not hardened. She could see the layer of grass that had grown close to the ground.
She dropped that task and went to the barnyard. She had tied a cloth over her head like women working in the fields always do. Seeing that gave Seerayi a little happiness. She took it as a sign that Ponna’s spirits might slowly improve thereon. Ponna was very good at her tasks. In fact, she was an excellent worker. Keeping herself engaged in these responsibilities would drain away her sorrows. Ponna came to the enclosure, took some water in a little pitcher and drank it thirstily. It made Seerayi happy to see Ponna drinking water with so much eagerness. Ponna then took a basket, filled it up with dried cow dung from the pit, hoisted it on her head and set off again.
Seerayi kept looking at her to see if Ponna’s gaze wandered towards the portia tree. It did look like she walked with her gaze fixed on that tree. Seerayi thought that all she had to do was change the focus of that gaze. But that might not mean much in itself. Ponna could still find other things that reminded her of Kali, and scream just like she did looking at the brinjal plants. They just have to be careful for a little longer. They really should have felled and removed that tree altogether. It just sat there and bore witness to everything. How many generations would it have seen? Ponna would never agree to have the tree removed—any attempt to do so was met with intense protests from her, as though chopping the tree was somehow akin to actually hurting her, chopping away at her very life. How she had screamed when they chopped down the branch from which he had hanged! Chinnaan, who came to do the chopping, had said, ‘God! Her screams are giving me the shivers. Let’s not do it.’ But Ponna’s father reasoned, ‘She would suffer and scream more if that branch continued to be there. Try not to listen to her. Just do the job quickly and leave.’ Using the sharp-edged saw he had brought, Kannaan finished the job quickly. Seerayi now wondered when the entire tree would meet that fate.
On the pretext of herding the sheep to graze, Seerayi followed Ponna into the field. Ponna spread the dried cow dung over the plant bed and used the handle of the spade to break them down into smaller pieces. Then she used the rake to turn over the soil. It had hardened. In some places, she pushed in the rake forcefully. Had she done this after one round of watering, the soil would have turned over smoothly. But she had no patience for that. Even though she had little physical strength, she was strong mentally. Seerayi feared that Ponna might hurt herself with the thorny brinjal stalks again. Ponna kept at her task, wiping away her sweat with the loose end of her sari. The day grew hot. Seerayi wondered if she should ask Ponna to stop her work and come back in, but she was not sure if that was, in fact, the best thing to do. But, thankfully, Ponna’s mother came back right then.
She walked up to the brinjal patch and said, ‘Girl, you will fall sick if you do so much work suddenly after not doing any work for so long. Don’t we have enough to worry about already? You have already done a lot. That’s enough. Come. All that is left is to set right the water channels. We can get that done before your brother arrives and starts drawing water. Come.’ Ponna quietly did as was told. She carried the basket with her but she hung the spade and rake from a branch of the palai tree nearby. That’s where Kali used to hang them. The sapota tree was bursting with fruit. Vallayi walked behind Ponna. On reaching the enclosure, Ponna washed her hands and feet and looked into the pots—they contained balls of hardened gruel. She took one ball, put it in a bowl and poured some kuzhambu over it. ‘What is this? Nakkiri greens?’ she asked.
‘No, ma,’ she was told. ‘It is kalkumitti. Your mother-in-law found it in the groundnut fields and plucked some with great care.’
Ponna did not respond to that. She ate in silence, washed her hands, and went and lay down on the cot inside the hut. In just a little while,
they could hear her steady breathing.
Vallayi came in quietly to check on her. Ponna was deep in sleep. When she realized how long it had been since Ponna had slept like this, her mother teared up. She felt that things would now be all right at last. Outside, she heard Seerayi bossing about the sheep. She ran out and hissed, ‘Keep it down! Ponna is sleeping.’ Seerayi lowered her voice and said, ‘Oh really?’
Sunlight lanced through the gaps between the leaves of the portia tree and spread all over.
SIX
Since Ponna didn’t sleep at night, Seerayi and Vallayi took turns staying awake, since they feared that Ponna might give them the slip and harm herself in some way. To help with staying up at night, the two women set aside some tasks that they could do. They took their time with laying out the feed for the cattle. Seerayi would say, ‘Sister, I will take a quick nap. Don’t you doze off too.’ But how much sleep did they really manage to get at their age anyway? It felt like no time passed between closing their eyes and opening them. They let Ponna sleep inside the hut, and they lay on two cots right outside. The cots from Seerayi’s house in the village had been brought over here to the enclosure. They needed an extra cot for visitors who sometimes stayed the night. Even if they heard a little rustle from inside the hut, they’d both quickly awaken and sit up. If Ponna walked outside at night, the dog followed her. And they followed the dog.
They both had a lot of things to share with each other. Seerayi addressed Ponna’s father as her elder brother, and she considered Ponna’s mother as her nangai, her sister-in-law. But she addressed her as ‘akka’, elder sister. They had never had any problems with each other, but only rarely did they get to talk to each other intimately. They had made up for that these past two months and had shared a lot with each other. Two years ago, on a night just like this one, Vallayi had visited here. Seerayi had sent for her. On that night, lying in the front veranda of the house, they had talked about taking Ponna to the festival. That had been the beginning of everything.
A Lonely Harvest Page 4